


Play Dates

by bixgirl1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Draco, Friends to Lovers, HP: EWE, Hot!Dad Draco, M/M, Praise Kink, Rimming, face fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 12:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10514262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bixgirl1/pseuds/bixgirl1
Summary: Harry never thought seeing Malfoy as a dad would affect himthisway.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carpemermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpemermaid/gifts).



> All characters belong to JK Rowling and associated publishers.
> 
> Happy birthday to my lovely carpemermaid! From her unfilled bday prompt last year (same as summary). I didn't manage to get everything in, and though there are kids, I promise it's not a kidfic! There's plenty of smutty smutty goodness that I hope you enjoy, because you deserve all of the smutty goodness in the world on your birthday! <3
> 
> Unbeta-ed, so please forgive any mistakes I've missed.

_**Playtime**_ :

The playground was dreadful. '

Of course, Hermione had told him to expect it as such.

Still, Harry hadn’t pictured the infant swing seats dangling from one rusty chain each, or the graffiti-covered slide, or the broken glass in the sandbox or the splintering teeter-totter. He hadn’t expected to see a feral dog watering the lopsided merry-go-round that wobbled with each gust of wind.

The Disillusionment charm was, in fact, _too_ good.

Harry stared at the park in utter dismay, even as Albus wriggled in his arms and shouted “Down, Daddy!” in that imperious way of his.

“Er, Al, maybe we can find another—”

“Want to play!” his son screeched in his ear. Harry held him out and away with a wince, giving Albus the leverage to kick off from his stomach and climb down him like a zoo animal, streaking off toward the scary park. Harry jogged after him, hoping beyond hope that Hermione had been right.

She was.  Of course, she was.

As soon as he breached the limit of the charm, designed to make any stray Muggle feel ill, the grey scenery brightened. Atmospheric charms created a sunny environment. It was filled with laughing children, and, more importantly, all of the toys were transformed. The swing set became children’s brooms with wide seats and safety harnesses that hovered and swung a few feet from the ground; the merry-go-round shaped itself into a Snitch-shaped dome for the children to climb inside so it could spin. The slide shone, and fluctuated when a child slid down it, stretching its length for the few older children and shortening and becoming lower for the younger ones. There was a jungle-gym shaped like a giant Hippogriff, and as Albus barrelled toward it, it lowered its neck to allow him to scramble up after another child about his age.

Harry rubbed his stomach absently where Albus had kicked him, and pulled his wand as a precautionary measure. The cushioning charms were strong, but Al was pretty stubborn and had reached that age where he had no fear of death. Hopefully he’d get over it faster than James had.

It didn’t seem to matter, though. Al wasn’t doing anything particularly dangerous; just sitting on the fluffy stretched wings of the bird with the boy who he’d climbed up after, waving his hands as though he were trying to tell a story. The boy nodded seriously like he could understand everything Al was saying—which, if Harry was honest, even he couldn’t—and Harry studied him for a moment before his pale hair and pointy face clicked.

He turned around.

Malfoy was standing beside the hovering brooms, watching his son with a furrowed brow.

Harry stared at him with a bit of shock. Despite having seen Malfoy several times over the years, he’d honestly not ever considered that Malfoy knew how to—dress casually. If he’d ever thought about it, he’d have assumed that Malfoy’s idea of casual wear was a jumper over his button down and tie, but no. Now, he was wearing a t-shirt that skimmed over the leanly defined muscles of his biceps and shoulders and hugged his flat stomach. Now, his white-blond hair looked tousled rather than slicked back, falling over his forehead in pleasant waves. Now, he was wearing jeans ( _jeans?!_ ) and the fact that they looked pressed didn’t detract from Harry’s surprise that Malfoy even knew where to buy them.

Apparently, Malfoy knew how to be _all sorts_ of casual.

Harry swallowed.

Just then, Malfoy seemed to notice him. His face creased in a unexpectedly genuine smile. “Potter! Is that your son?”

Harry walked over. “Er, yeah. That’ll be Scorpius with him, then?”

“Right. Funny how quickly they seem to get along,” Malfoy mused, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I think I even saw him shake Scorpius’s hand.”

Harry snorted.

“I didn’t know you frequent this park,” Malfoy continued after a moment. “Don’t you usually take your children to—”

“The press coverage has gotten a bit more intrusive lately,” Harry clipped out, eyes on Albus; his son seemed perfectly content to bond with the child of his former nemesis. Malfoy was right; it was a bit funny.

“Ah. Yes. I read about your separation,” Malfoy murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, sorry about yours, too,” Harry said awkwardly, though Malfoy’s divorce had been splashed across the papers nearly three years prior. But Harry didn’t suppose there was a time limit for offering sympathies.

“Yes, yes, very sad,” Malfoy said, sounding amused. When Harry cast him an uncertain look, Malfoy smiled. “There wasn’t much point to carry on after Scorpius was born,” he explained. “As creating him was the sole reason for our match.”

“Oh.” An uncomfortable silence fell. At least, Harry was uncomfortable; Malfoy just stood there, looking annoyingly matter-of-fact. “Well, that’s good, then. That you dealt with it so easily.”

“Having trouble with yours, Potter?”

Harry looked at him sharply, but there didn’t seem any malice behind the question, nor taunting. Malfoy’s eyes were direct and a startling, clear grey in the sunlight from the atmospheric charms.

“More trouble with the papers than with Ginny,” Harry said at length. “She travels so much, and—well, there were other things.”

Like how they were both interested in sucking cock. She’d been surprisingly decent about it, actually, when Harry had come to terms with himself. But he didn’t offer that part.

“There always are. Is that why you’re growing the beard?”

Harry scratched his stubble self-consciously. Just one day without shaving. His stupidly fast-growing hair. “No, but it’s something to consider. Might keep the press off our backs.”

Malfoy made a non-committal noise, then jerked his pointy chin in the direction of the children. “Don’t you have another?”

“Yes, James.” Harry smiled. “Al starts Nursery school in the fall, but James is already in Primary.”

Malfoy’s eyes rose with interest. “Are you sending them off, then?”

“Just day school,” Harry explained. There were wizarding primary schools that took children for the full year like Hogwarts when they were as young as three, provided they had shown some accidental magic, but Harry couldn’t imagine sending his kids off so early. “What about Scorpius?”

“I have tutors for him. He’s already able to read in English and French,” he bragged, looking proud. Where once it would have grated on Harry’s nerves, he now found it oddly endearing. “I’ve been thinking of enrolling him in a private Nursery school to help socialize him, though. He’s very solitary at the Manor. I want to make sure he gets along.”

“Doesn’t seem to be having a problem with Al,” Harry pointed out, and Malfoy’s smile became fond and soft. After a moment, Harry realised he was staring at it—staring at Malfoy’s mouth—and quickly averted his eyes. “We’re at _Merlin’s Academy_ , though, if you’re looking for a place. Albus would probably enjoy having someone there he knows, once he starts.”

“I’ve heard that’s a good school. It’s—rather exclusive,” Malfoy said, rubbing a distracted hand over the inside of his forearm. Harry noted the shadow of his Mark and felt a sudden rush of compassion; while the negative press had died down quite a bit in the last several years, Malfoy probably still received a few doors closing in his face.

“It is. And very safe, too,” Harry added. “It’s why Gin and I picked it, although her parents volunteered to home-school them. Have you applied?”

“No.”

“You should.” He hesitated, not sure how it would go over. “I could give you a reference. They’re required for applicants.”

For a second Malfoy looked like he wanted to object, but then his eyes slid back to Scorpius, who was laughing and clapping his hands at whatever Albus had said. The boys stood up together and climbed off the Hippogriff gym—it knelt regally, to aid them—and then ran over to the sand box to throw the floating bubble-balls at each other.

“That would be appreciated,” Malfoy replied slowly. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Harry said, hand hovering in the air a moment before giving Malfoy a clap on the shoulder, warm and solid under the fabric of his t-shirt. They could do that now, right? Judging by the look Malfoy shot at him, he wasn’t sure, either. Whatever, it was done. “I’ll Owl it to you by tomorrow.”

Malfoy slanted him a half smile, then cupped his hands around his mouth. “Scorpius! Say goodbye to your friend; we must be going!”

Harry blinked, startled at the shout. “Why didn’t you just use a Sonorous?”

Malfoy blinked back. “Didn’t think of it. I speak to Scorpius whenever possible.”

Oddly touched by the simplicity of that statement, Harry stared at him. “You look really good, Malfoy.” Malfoy’s head swiveled toward him, comically fast, and Harry realized how that must have sounded. “I mean—you look really good as a dad.” Shit. “I mean, fatherhood suits you,” he corrected hastily. “A lot.”

He’d not meant to say that last bit, though true. However, there was no saving himself, now.

Something odd was happening to Malfoy’s face, a weird little flush spreading out over his cheekbones and forehead, like a rapid sunburn. His eyes narrowed slightly. Harry wondered if he was offended or just plain angry, but after a moment, Malfoy shrugged and looked away.

“And you,” he said as the boys came trotting over.

Malfoy crouched down and Harry forced his eyes away from the tight stretch of denim across his rear as Scorpius began talking fast, remarkably comprehensible for a three-year-old. “His name is Al and can I take him home, Daddy?”

Malfoy glanced up; Harry shared an amused look with him. “Not today, Scorpius. We have a few things to do.”

“But Daddy!”

“Scorpius,” Malfoy said firmly, and the little boy pushed out his lower lip but fell silent. Malfoy turned to Albus, who was hanging back a little. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you. Have you boys said goodbye?”

“Hi.” Al nodded but grabbed for Scorpius’s hand. He looked at Harry somewhat defiantly, and Harry tried not to laugh.

“How about we make a plan to see you again, Albus?” Malfoy said, voice shaking a bit with humour. “Do you think you could relinquish Scorpius’s hand if we did?”

Albus appeared to think about it before grudgingly complying. Scorpius shot him a wounded look, but allowed himself to be scooped up by Malfoy. Albus sidled closer to Harry, pressing against the side of his leg as he looked up at his new friend.

“I apologise, I should have asked you,” Malfoy said under his breath.

“I was going to suggest it, myself,” Harry admitted just as quietly. “I’ll send along something with our Floo address tomorrow as well. Perhaps we can get the children together this weekend.”

Malfoy nodded and held out his hand, then faltered, looking uncertain. Harry reached out and shook it firmly, enjoying the feel of Malfoy’s long fingers closing around his hand far too much for such a sterile handshake. Still, the other man seemed pleased. He gave Harry an indecipherable look and Disapparated out of the park with Scorpius.

“Can I keep that boy, Daddy?” Albus piped up.

Harry laughed and ruffled his hair. “I thought you wanted a puppy,” Harry joked.

“No,” Albus said in that heartbreakingly sweet way of his. “I like Scorpius.” Harry knelt down and kissed his forehead. “I like Scorpius, too.”

And, apparently, Malfoy. Whoever could have guessed?

***

 ** _School-time_** :

“I appreciate this, Potter,” Malfoy said stiffly out of the side of his mouth.

Harry shrugged and knocked his shoulder with one of his own. “It’s fine.”

Malfoy’s jaw tightened at that, and Harry guessed he couldn’t blame the other man. While Malfoy had been accepted for an interview on the basis of Harry’s recommendation, he knew it wasn’t a common practice to insist that the references attended the meetings personally. It was obviously a bid to make sure that Harry’s letter hadn’t been forged somehow and it had taken a couple of playdates at the park to sooth Malfoy’s pride and convince him that having Harry come to the meeting was the simplest solution.

It wasn’t even solely for Malfoy, Harry thought, although it was rather sweet the way he let Scorpius sit in his lap and propped his chin on top of his child’s flaxen hair as they waited for the Headmistress to materialize for their meeting. He was in finer form today, wearing a perfectly fitted waistcoat in dark blue over a bright white silk shirt, with a perfectly knotted blue and silver tie at his throat. Perfectly pressed matching trousers draped comfortably over the muscles of his thighs as they sat in the too-small chairs together.

Harry looked down at his own jeans and t-shirt combo again, and scratched at his stubble when he caught Malfoy eyeing it. Maybe he should have dressed up more to make a better impression.

The thing was, he’d never seen two children become such fast friends as Albus and Scorpius. The last time they’d been at the park together, both of them had cried upon parting. Malfoy, blast him, had gathered up his son and pressed soothing kisses to his furrowed brow, giving Harry a distressed look. So this had to go well.

Agatha Morris finally exited her office, halting at the sight of both Harry and Malfoy sitting there waiting for her. “Mr. Potter!”

“I was told I needed to be at this meeting?” Harry enquired with a dry voice.

She blushed to the roots of her hair, glancing at Malfoy. “Right. Um, new—policy. For sponsors to attend the first meeting.” Clearing her throat, she looked down at the boys in their laps. “Hello Albus. Hello—Scorpius, is it?”

Malfoy jostled him a little and he looked up. “Hello.”

“Would you like to go into the playroom as I speak with your fathers?” she asked, smiling a little. She really was very good with children. She held out her hands and the boys climbed down and took them. She looked back at Harry and Malfoy. “I’ll be right back.”

“She was surprised to see you,” Malfoy muttered.

“We knew she would be,” Harry said. “Relax.”

“I’m sick of people who think of me as a liar. Or worse,” he admitted to Harry’s surprise. He patted Malfoy’s knee, drawing away hurriedly when Malfoy turned to him, jaw dropping a fraction.

“Well, you’re not,” Harry snapped to hide his embarrassment. “You were a kid then and you’re a father now and it’s on them if no one bothers to get to know you.”

Malfoy’s face did that funny thing it sometimes did when Harry complimented him; twisted and looked torn between disbelief and anger and something else Harry couldn’t put his finger on. He opened his mouth to speak, but they were interrupted by the Headmistress, who approached and then ushered them into her office.

“So, Mr. Malfoy, I see you’re gainfully employed at Gringott’s,” she said, shuffling the papers in front of her.

“For six years, yes.” He crossed one leg over the other and Harry found himself staring at the jutted bone of his ankle, hidden under the argyle of his sock.

“And you’re divorced, correct? There’s no issue of custody?”

“I have full custody,” he said smoothly. “His mother sees him regularly, however, and is in agreement with me to allow him to attend school.”

“I see.” She directed a slightly harassed glance toward Harry, and he narrowed his eyes. “The problem is, Mr. Malfoy, that you put in your application a bit late, so I’m afraid we’ll have trouble accommodating you for the upcoming—”

“Bollocks,” Harry said loudly. “You don’t want him because he was a Death Eater.”

Malfoy glared at him. “Yes, Potter, we’re all aware of the real reason. I’m glad you felt the need to state it so bluntly.” He turned a cool gaze on Agatha. “Thank you for your time.”

He started to stand and Harry kicked him in the ankle he’d been glancing at moments before. Malfoy looked irritated, but sat back down.  “I’m not sure why we were pulled into this farce of a meeting if you were only going to turn him down.”

Agatha looked miserable. “I do apologize; sincerely. I had every intention of accepting Mr. Malfoy’s application if his recommendation letter turned out to be authentic. But I received an owl from one of our donors this morning, stating that if we allowed the child of a Death Eater into the school, he’d pull his funding.”

Malfoy started laughing. “This is a matter of money? You are aware that I have sole control over the Malfoy and Lestrange vaults, are you not?”

“One-hundred and fifty thousand Galleons,” Harry bit out to follow him up. “March third. Anonymous donation, that I’d hoped would remain anonymous. Do you think you have only one donor?”

“Our school board seems to have an issue with it, as well,” she admitted.

“They want to deny a child for what his father did in the war,” Malfoy said flatly. “If that’s the case, this is not the place for my son.”

“Malfoy, wait.” Harry looked at Agatha. She was a nice woman; she seemed genuinely sorry for the fuss. “This man is not the same man he was eight years ago. I think I, of all people, can attest to that. He’s warm and inclusive and adores his son, who is a much easier child than mine are, and if this is the kind of place that bans children based on their parentage, I’m fairly certain it’s not the place for Albus or James, either.”

Malfoy made a low sound, like a complaint, but Harry refused to look at him. His face was flaming hot as he stared down Agatha, who looked—if anything—pathetically grateful at the ultimatum.

“That,” she said after a moment, “Is something our board will definitely listen to. Mr. Malfoy, term begins September ninth.”

Harry finally turned to Malfoy, whose pale face was impassive but awash with colour. “I’ll consider it,” he said, voice void of emotion. He looked at Harry. “I need to take Scorpius home.”

“Right, okay.”

They said their goodbyes and headed down the long hallway to the playroom. Harry tried to gauge from Malfoy’s tight expression whether he’d done something wrong. “Should I apologise for that?”

Malfoy sighed. “It’s what you do, isn’t it? I suppose if our children make it impossible to avoid each other, I’ll have to get used to a little saving now and then,” he grumbled. He sounded odd—and flustered.

Harry, however, had to tamp down the delight that threatened to rise up. “Hey, you’re the one that approached me on the playground. And I do tend to do that sort of thing for my friends,” he said.

Malfoy stopped in place and stared at him.

Harry stared right back.

Finally, Malfoy’s mouth curled up in a self-deprecating smile. “Well, hell. Is that what we are?”

“I don’t know, Malfoy,” Harry said, voice catching, “You tell me.”

The silence grew thick and charged between them for a beat, broken only when the aid in the playroom opened the door and their children came running out.

***

**_Bedtime:_ **

“Have you thought any more about _Merlin’s_?” Harry asked, pouring the wine Malfoy had brought over for supper.  Malfoy twirled his fork around some pasta, but paused before taking a bite.

“I suppose I’ll have to,” Malfoy said with an arch of an eyebrow. “Salazar knows what trouble I’m in for if Scorpius finds out he can’t attend with Albus next month.”

Harry took a long sip of the wine, which warmed his insides. Or maybe it was just that he was looking at Malfoy, who was wearing jeans again, topped with another one of those t-shirts that covered his shoulders so nicely and made Harry want to pull it right off. Malfoy took a large bite of the pasta and gave a little groan, which made Harry's stomach jolt.

It wasn’t that Harry hadn’t considered it; Malfoy was damned attractive, probably _too_ attractive at this point. His face was still pointy but he’d grown into it, and now he looked elegant rather than severe. His body, too, had changed; no longer skinny now but slender and covered in a sleek layer of muscle in all the right places. It was a bit of a shame he’d gone into finance instead of modelling, Harry thought a bit dizzily, gazing at a drop of sauce on Malfoy’s lower lip just as his pink tongue darted out to lick it off.

He swallowed.

There were a lot of reasons this was a terrible idea. First and foremost, Albus would never forgive him if Malfoy was suddenly too embarrassed or offended to bring Scorpius back over. Which led to the second: Malfoy’d been married to a woman, and—while Harry could attest that was no guarantee of sexual preferences—had never responded to Harry’s (accidentally) sexually loaded question as to their status. He supposed Malfoy was avoiding the whole thing for the sake of their new friendship, which was probably a wise idea.

Still, it would help if Malfoy were—paired up, maybe, so that Harry could just stop thinking of him that way.

“So have you started dating again?” Harry asked abruptly. “Since Astoria?”

Malfoy coughed and patted his mouth with his napkin. “No.”

“If you’re interested, I have an Auror friend who’s been lamenting the fact that she’s single lately. She’s very pretty,” Harry added.

“Then why don’t _you_ date her?” Malfoy said with a snort.

“She’s, er, not exactly my type.”

“I’m sure she isn’t mine, either,” Malfoy murmured, looking highly amused.

“Aren’t into the sort who have dangerous jobs?” Harry asked.  “Ron’s assistant is quite nice. And it’d have the added advantage of pissing him off quite a bit.”

Malfoy grinned. “That would _almost_ be worth it.” He folded his napkin and placed it carefully in his lap, tilting his head to look at Harry. “What about you? Is that why you’re asking? Are you looking for advice on how to date after a divorce? I warn you, I haven’t done any of it. One-offs are not the same as dating. I could give you advice for _those_ ,” he said, voice going low.

Harry sucked in a swift breath. Surely, he didn’t mean to sound suggestive. “I’m more of a relationship bloke, I think, but thank you.”

“Ah.” He stopped and cast a confused glance upstairs. “I haven’t heard the children for a bit.”

Harry’s heart stuttered nervously. As any parent knew, quiet children were often making the worst sort of trouble. Without consulting, both men rose from the table and headed upstairs toward Albus’s room together. The door was cracked and everything was silent. Exchanging a glance with Malfoy, Harry pushed it open.

Albus and Scorpius were curled together, fast asleep on the floor. The room looked as if a toy bomb had detonated in it; a stuffed dragon in the corner was spewing cool blue fire; juggling balls were all over the place; the blocks from whatever they had been trying to build were scattered everywhere and skittering quietly across the floor in an attempt to blindly reassemble themselves into a shape.

Malfoy smiled wistfully.  “I suppose I should get him home, then.”

“Or you could—” Harry paused. “I have a guest room. And James is staying at Gin’s tonight, so there won’t be a lot of noise in the morning.”

Malfoy nodded jerkily, once, and headed over to where the boys were clustered together. He cast his wand at Albus’s unmade bed to clear it of toys, then gathered Scorpius first in his arms, depositing him on the mattress, before turning and picking up Albus carefully and setting him beside his son. Harry’s throat grew tight at the tenderness in Malfoy’s expression as he paused to smooth away Scorpius’s fringe from his forehead. The little boy huffed quietly in his sleep and rolled over.

“Why didn’t you just levitate him?” Harry whispered.

“Because I want to be better than my father,” Malfoy said quietly.

Shit.

Harry turned away, ignoring the sudden flood of—emotion, lust, whatever it was that was coursing through his midsection.

“I should get Albus’s stuffed phoenix from my room,” he muttered. “He climbed in with me last night and likes to wake up with it.”

He headed across the hall, disconcerted when Malfoy followed him. Harry resolutely didn’t look up, choosing instead to check behind a pile of folded clothes and underneath his bed for the toy. After a minute, Malfoy said “ _Accio_ Phoenix toy,” and it flew from under Harry’s pillow to his hand. He looked down at it, stroking the feathers for a moment.

Harry climbed up off his knees, heading over to take it from him. “I never expected to see you like this,” he admitted.

“Like what?” Malfoy’s voice held a hint of defensiveness.

“Nice,” Harry said after quick gulp for courage. “Kind. A great father. Funny. Friendly. _Good._ Take your bloody pick.”

“Why do you keep saying this shit to me?” Malfoy asked hoarsely. “No one ever—” He looked away, pressing his lips into a tight line.

“I just—I mean it. I like you,” Harry said, catching his eyes. The idea that no one ever complimented Malfoy on the things that were important made something unpleasant turn over in his stomach. “I saw you with Scorpius and I—I let myself _look_ at you in a different way. I should have done that years ago.”

So quickly it made his head spin, Malfoy grabbed the back of Harry’s skull and hauled him forward, crashing a kiss down onto his mouth while simultaneously casting his wand at the door and shutting it with a definitive click.

Harry thought to say _No, that’s not what I mean,_ and, _I wasn’t trying to kiss you,_ and,  _wait, this is a bad idea because of something I don’t remember_ , but what came out was “Merlin, Malfoy, your _mouth_ ,” on a choking groan.

And then suddenly Harry was flat on his back, pushed onto his bed by Malfoy, whose chest was heaving under his form-fitting t-shirt. “What?” he demanded roughly. “What about my mouth?”

Harry stared up at him. “It’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he said shakily after a moment in which his thoughts scrambled to coalesce. He scooted unsteadily backward toward the pillows. “I’ve wanted to fuck it for weeks.”

Malfoy made a low sound and then climbed on top of Harry, straddling him as he shoved Harry’s shirt up under his armpits. His hands found Harry’s nipples, tweaking them into tight little buds while his hips began doing filthy things above Harry, a rubbing little slide that brought their cocks into direct contact through the thick denims of their jeans. He drew off Harry’s glasses and tossed them up onto the night stand, then managed to whip Harry’s shirt off and threw it to the floor.

Harry snagged a handful of Malfoy’s hair, yanking him down into another kiss and rolled them over so he was on top, pressed between Malfoy’s loosened thighs. He ground down on the other man, tongue slipping into his open mouth then sucking Malfoy’s bottom lip between his until Malfoy moaned and bucked up under him.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Harry growled. “Want to taste all of you,” he added on a rasping breath and Malfoy moaned and pulled out of the kiss to stare at him with wide, lust-blown eyes. His normally pale face was blotchy in a combination of heat and stubble-burn over his mouth and chin. Harry’s hands began moving as he rutted against Malfoy, wandering over his ribcage and hips and behind himself to travel over the Malfoy’s thigh, which was wrapped, now, around Harry’s waist. He reached a hand between them, feeling his knuckles brush against the hard ridge of Malfoy’s erection, and deftly undid his flies, popping open the button and unzipping him. He reached inside and pulled Malfoy’s straining prick out. Malfoy let go of his shoulders, where he’d begun digging his fingers into Harry, and helped, fumbling with the fastenings of Harry’s jeans and shoving them gracelessly down over his hips, clearing Harry’s arse to the cool air of the room and his cock to the warm heat between their bodies.

He was so hard his erection thumped against Malfoy’s groin as it was freed, and Malfoy jerked a little in his grasp as Harry wiggled, shoving his jeans further down and then kicking them off with his shoes. He toed off his socks clumsily and then Malfoy’s hands were on his bare arse, fingers clenching tight as he tugged Harry upward. Harry followed him, too dizzy with want to allow for thought—confused or otherwise—until he was straddling Malfoy’s chest, his cock bobbing in his face.

“What was that you said about fucking my mouth?” Malfoy murmured, lifting his head to flick his tongue across the leaking slit of Harry’s prick.

“Oh, _god_.” Harry levered himself onto his hands and knees above Malfoy’s face and pressed downward. Malfoy’s lips parted immediately and Harry slid his aching prick inside, shallowly at first and then deeper when Malfoy hummed approvingly. His hands were still hard on Harry’s arse; his head had fallen back against the mattress as Harry thrust into the slick heat of his mouth. “Your tongue is a goddamn dream,” he muttered, flushing. Malfoy’s fingers tightened momentarily and he swirled his tongue around Harry’s cock in a hurried, sloppy way as Harry fucked his face harder.

“You’re so fucking hot, doing that,” he continued, embarrassment at saying such things ebbing away when Malfoy made a whining noise and took him deeper, his throat relaxing so that Harry could shove almost the length of his whole cock in between those stretched pink lips. His knees and toes dug into the mattress as he fought to keep his balance to prevent choking the other man, but Malfoy only slurped at him harder, hollowing out his cheeks as he sucked and licked, making his cheekbones stand out sharply as Harry watched his cock disappear into Malfoy’s mouth.

He was getting close— _too_ close, _too_ fast, cock throbbing with impending climax, balls tingling and drawn close to his body—and Harry tried to force himself away from the brink, tried to slow his frantically moving hips, but Malfoy was making pleased, garbled sounds that vibrated against the head of Harry’s cock as he slid down the other man’s throat. And then it was too late to stop because he was coming, body shaking as he pumped into Malfoy’s mouth twice, three times, then held himself still and shaking as his orgasm tore through him, pleasure ripping down his spine, and he shot into Malfoy’s mouth, flooding it with spunk. Malfoy swallowed and swallowed, throat working hard and making Harry twitch as he felt it against the head of his overstimulated prick.

When it was over, Harry gently pulled away and crawled downward. Malfoy looked at him silently, and Harry very nearly took him right then, newly-soft cock be damned.

His lips were swollen and red, his pale hair standing out in all directions. His shirt was rucked up over his flat belly and his cock was hard and heavy above the open waistband of his jeans. He looked messy and greedy and utterly debauched and Harry wasn’t _remotely_ finished with him yet.

“Get undressed,” he said flatly.

Malfoy’s eyes flared with heat as he moved to obey, sitting up to pull his shirt off before wriggling out of his jeans and pants. His shoes fell to the floor with a heavy thud and he looked at Harry expectantly.

“You’re bossy when you want it,” he said, and his voice sounded raw—either from desire or from Harry’s cock so deeply in his throat moments before.

“I’m bossy when I’ve _got_ it,” Harry corrected, rolling back onto him, pressing a quick, sucking kiss to the curve of his throat. “I’ve _wanted_ it for a lot longer. Besides,” he pointed out, “I think you like it. Or—no.” He lifted his head and examined Malfoy for a moment.

“No,” he said again, slowly as it occurred to him how Malfoy reacted whenever said something nice to him. “You don’t need to be told what to do, do you?” Harry pried Malfoy’s thighs open with one hand and slotted himself between them. “You’re just a _natural_ at everything you like to do, aren’t you?” he said, voice going impossibly low as he slid his body against Malfoy’s, slowly dragging it up and down. “You’re _so good_ at it, Malfoy, just _made_ to be fucked and sucked and tasted and teased and I’m going to do _all of it to you_.”

A strangled, needy sound escaped Malfoy, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight, face going tense and wound up. His cock, pressed between Harry and himself, gave a warning throb, smearing pre-come against Harry’s stomach. Harry kissed him messily, groaning as Malfoy sucked at his tongue with the same fervency he’d sucked at his cock, and then pulled away to get a better look. He clambered down Malfoy’s body, settling between his legs, then draped them over his shoulders and rubbed the side of his scratchy face against the soft skin at Malfoy’s inner thigh, pleased when it immediately darkened to pink. Then paused to look properly at Malfoy’s cock for the first time.

“ _Look at you_ ,” he whispered.

“Just—just get on with it, Potter,” Malfoy panted, moving restlessly. Harry combed his fingers through the golden hair at Malfoy’s groin.

“It’s beautiful,” he said reverently, loosely circling the base with his thumb and forefinger. It really was; thick and long, flushed a deep pink along the shaft and even darker over the crown, which glistened at the tip with moisture. He skimmed the pad of his thumb over it, spreading the fluid around until the entire head was shiny in the low light of his room. Harry tightened his grasp and dragged his fist up the length of Malfoy’s shaft, the foreskin sliding back in his grip to expose more of the glans, and Harry dipped down to lick away the shine, salty on his taste buds.

Malfoy hissed, and so Harry did it again, working his hand in slow, sure strokes over Malfoy’s length as he sucked the head of his cock into his mouth and licked his tongue over the surface, sucking gently and slowly as Malfoy’s fingers found his hair and buried themselves in it. He bucked up against Harry’s mouth, silently begging for more, but Harry held him in place, keeping up the excruciating slowness as Malfoy gasped and arched and looked, from Harry’s vantage point, like he was generally losing his mind.

Harry pulled his mouth away, hand still moving in a tight twist and pull.

“You’re delicious,” he murmured into the crevice where Malfoy’s groin met his thigh. He licked it, tasting sweat and soap. “I bet you’re delicious _everywhere_.”

“H-Harry,” Malfoy groaned brokenly.

Harry nudged his knees outward so that only Malfoy’s feet rested on his back and lowered his head further. Keeping one hand on Malfoy’s straining prick, he used the other to grip one side of his arse and open him up. Malfoy twisted a little, either out of embarrassment or to aid him, Harry couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered.

“Here, too,” Harry said quietly, staring intently at Malfoy’s furrowed, pink hole. As he watched, the skin twitched and constricted, and Harry’s spent cock began to tingle and thicken again. “You’ve got the sexiest arsehole I’ve ever seen, Malfoy.”

“Harry—”

“Draco, then,” Harry agreed unevenly, studying it. He whispered a quick, efficient cleaning charm and Draco yelped a little before subsiding. “It is, though. Tiny and pink and perfect. I wonder if it’ll even take me,” he said.

“ _Nghhhh_ ,” Draco said, and Harry took that as an assent that they should try.

He leaned in and licked a stripe over the length of his crevice, flattening his tongue and doing it again, lapping over his rim for a minute before latching his lips around it and giving a good, strong suck. Draco’s heels jerked and dug into the back of Harry’s ribcage. Harry scraped his teeth over it, nibbling gently as his lips made a seal around it, then stiffened up his tongue and traced it. The wrinkled flesh responded as Draco did, fluttering with indecisive movement to his touch.  Harry stabbed into him experimentally as he sucked, but Draco was so tight he could barely get the tip of his tongue inside. His lips made soft, wet, smacking noises in time with Draco’s little grunts of incoherent pleasure. Like a symphony.

A really filthy one.

Panting for breath, Harry pulled away. Draco’s hole was slick with saliva and looked slightly puffy.

“What do you know, Draco, you _do_ taste good everywhere,” he said breathlessly, smug when Draco's whole body shuddered. Harry gave his cock one last, absent pull with his hand, then let go to grab his other arse cheek and press into his entrance with the tips of his thumbs. They slipped in easily enough, and he parted them slightly, twisting them around the stubborn rim of muscles in a bid to loosen the other man up. He worked slowly, diligently, pausing every few seconds to press a wet kiss or slow lick to the skin being massaged open.

“ _You_ ,” Draco announced raggedly, “ _Are a sadist_.”

“A sadist would want to hurt you,” Harry said softly, removing his thumbs and trying his luck with one finger. It slid in smoothly down to the knuckle of his hand. “I just want to make you feel good.”  Draco jerked and Harry felt his mouth curl into a smile. “You _deserve_ it.”

“ _Oh, sweet Merlin, fuck, please just fuck me now, do it, I’m ready, I can do it_ ,” Draco babbled out, body trembling as Harry added another finger and shoved them into his arse.

“I don’t know; you still seem too tight,” he teased, fingers rapidly fucking in and out of Draco. He twisted them, flipping his hand upward, and made a beckoning gesture with them. Draco moaned and his cock lurched up from his belly, growing impossibly darker.

“ _No, I’m not, I’ll like it_ ,” Draco promised desperately, sounding as insane as Harry was beginning to feel.

“You will?” Harry removed his fingers, then nosed at Draco’s relaxed rim, thrusting his tongue inside. Draco’s hips moved toward him as Harry continued to eat him, lips and tongue and teeth devouring the other man until Draco cried out, “ _I’m going to come if you keep that up you bloody tosser! Just fucking_ fuck _me already_!”

Harry laughed quietly, lifting up and settling onto his knees. “Shhh. The boys.”

Draco slanted a slightly deranged look at the closed door and then snapped, “Cast a bloody Silencing charm if you’re so worried about it,” a bit viciously, and Harry was surprised to realize he was glad, maybe, that Draco wasn’t _completely_ nice. That he was still perhaps demanding and selfish and greedy enough to not care if he came with a shout. Mouth quirking, Harry did as he asked.

“Pushy little bottom,” Harry murmured, and Draco flushed, brows drawing down. He caught his lip between his teeth, looking worried, so Harry bent down to put his mouth near the shell of his ear and breathed, “ _I like it_.”

Draco huffed as though offended, but released his lip and smiled, the corners of his mouth creasing with small lines Harry had never noticed before. He gave in to the urge to kiss them, then Draco’s mouth again; their tongues clashed against each other as though in a duel, and then Draco shoved Harry backward to roll over onto his knees, shoulders low as he propped himself on his elbows, arse high in the air. “

Do it, then,” he commanded as if trying to hide the tremor to his voice.

Shaking, Harry pressed the tip of his wand into the palm of his hand and conjured some lube, slathering his cock with it, then running oily fingers against Malfoy’s rim. He rose onto his knees higher, fitting himself against Draco and madly deciding that he was going to Pensieve every. single. second. of this later. He stroked the surprisingly round globes of Draco’s cheeks, pulling them apart to look down at the shadow between.

He took his cock in one hand and pressed the head against Draco’s swollen rim, hearing the other man hiss. Draco arched backward enticingly and the crown of Harry’s cock popped in, breaching the clinging muscles in one startling motion.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, shoving deeper in slow strokes. “You feel _so good_.”

Draco trembled and made a ragged sound as Harry gripped his hips with tight fingers to steady him in place. He pushed forward, but it wasn’t an easy passage despite the amount of prep Harry had given him; his cock was squeezed so tightly it ached. The edges of his vision blurred and Harry shut his eyes, unable to watch something so erotic as his cock disappearing slowly into Draco’s tight little arse without coming on the spot. “I can’t even look at you taking my cock,” he admitted roughly, thrusting deeper still. “I’ll come too soon if I do.”

“Yes, tell me,” Draco muttered, hips writhing side to side as he struggled to accommodate Harry’s prick. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“I want it,” Harry said, giving a final shove until he had bottomed out inside the other man. He held still until the need to climax faded a bit. “I want _you_. Fuck, it’s like your arse was made for my cock. You squeeze me _just right_.”

He gave a little rolling pump of his hips. Draco inched his thighs apart and Harry took it as a sign to do it again. And again and again and again, quick little thrusts and swivels, clenching his arse hard on each inward stroke, rotating his hips. His fingers, he could see, were going to leave bruises on Draco’s hips in the morning, so Harry reached up and snagged the curve of Draco’s shoulder, hauling him upward, almost knocking his head into the headboard. But the change in position seemed to be right, because Draco pressed his hands flat against the wall above the headboard and groaned, canting his hips back in time with Harry’s thrusts.

“There?” Harry asked, leaning forward to bite the back of Draco’s long, pale neck. He wound an arm around the front of his ribcage to hold him close.

“Yeah,” Draco muttered. He gasped again. “ _There_. Do I feel good?”

“Your arse was made for me,” Harry said again, grunting loudly with every slap of skin on skin as he fucked into Draco mercilessly. Draco’s fingers curled against the wall and he nodded frantically.

“Keep—touch me,” he ordered, voice cracking with strain. Harry’s free hand found Draco’s cock, which felt hot and heavy against his palm. He gripped it tight—too tight perhaps, but Draco merely whimpered with relief as Harry jerked it roughly, with no finesse, working Draco toward his orgasm long denied.

His cock pounded in an angry, graceless beat as he whispered little compliments in Draco’s ear like, _wanted you for so long_ and _you fit me so perfectly_ and _never want to take my cock out of your arse_ and _you make me feel so good_ and even _Merlinfuck I like you_ and then Draco was coming, back scooping away, pushing off against the wall as Harry’s fist was covered in warm, sticky release.  His slick hole convulsed, twitching and tightening, and Harry pounded deeper, grinding in hard to get as much of the friction as he could, and then he was coming too, gasping and swearing, cock throbbing and pulsing as he came.

Draco had gone limp in his clasp, sagging forward to drape awkwardly against the wall as much as he could with Harry’s arm still tight around him. Harry panted, dazedly stringing kisses across Draco’s shoulder blade, then slowly pulled out from the tight heat of his body.

He guided Draco into a laying down position with him, turning him onto his side so they were facing. Draco allowed it, only bothering to pull a face after Harry leaned in to kiss him.

“You were perfect. That was perfect. Jesus,” Harry wheezed finally, as his heartbeat steadied.

Draco’s fading flush climbed a bit back over his throat. “I didn’t know if you were—”

Harry chuckled. “I didn’t know if _you_ were,” he countered, then paused.

“So it wasn’t the dangerous job you objected to? With my friend?”

Draco snickered. “I can cope with a dangerous job,” he said pointedly. He grinned as his hand found Harry’s cock, soft and sore and slick with fluids. “I was simply interested in _you_.”

Harry grinned and rolled his eyes, batting Draco’s hand away. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, meant what I said.” He swallowed. “About not being the one-off type.”

Draco fumbled over and found Harry’s wand where it had fallen on rumpled bedcovers. He cast a cleaning spell over them both, leaving Harry’s skin refreshed and tingling. “

I’m not either, really,” he admitted. His throat worked silently for a moment. “It’s just difficult to find something—more—when you’re me.”

“This is more,” Harry said quietly. “If you want it to be.”

Draco raised his eyebrows, but those creases appeared at the corners of his mouth again. “I might. If you do.”

“Only if you stop using my wand,” he said, grabbing for it with a smile.

Draco gave him a superior look. “As if you haven’t used mine,” he said loftily, handing it over. Harry poked it against his chest in retribution.  “How do you think the boys will react?”

“They’ll be fine.”

“Do you think?” Draco looked worried for a moment. “Things may change.”

Harry laughed outright. He leaned in to kiss the other man, slowly; a promise of something to come.

“Draco,” he said, “The only thing that will change is that we’ll be scheduling playdates a _lot_ more often.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are lovely.


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